Should've, Could've, Would've
by crazy-about-books
Summary: As the crew of MJN waits in suspense for Douglas to do something brilliant, they contemplate on how things Should've, Could've, Would've gone and Arthur decides it's up to him. For the prompt: MJN is captured by terrorists and told to choose one of their number to die first. In a heartbeat, Arthur volunteers. "Because I'm the least brilliant, and I don't want it to be any of you."


**A/N: This is from a prompt I found and if you're interested in where I found it, send me a PM and I'll give you the link. This is also not beta-ed or brit-picked, so forgive me for that. Please enjoy reading.**

_MJN is captured by terrorists and told to choose one of their number to die first._  
_In a heartbeat, Arthur volunteers._  
_"Because I'm the least brilliant, and I don't want it to be any of you."**  
**_

**Should've ,Could've, Would've**

It was silly, but sometimes Arthur would be up in Gerti; Skip and Douglas in the cockpit flying like they were supposed to (or rather, _unlike_ they were supposed to. They never seemed to do what they were supposed to- mum complained about it all the time. Skip tried, but it only ever made mum mad and Douglas was too… too Douglas and it didn't really matter anyways because they were brilliant. They flew Gerti brilliantly and playing games with them was brilliant, even though he never won, and it was _all _just brilliant.) Anyways, Martin and Douglas would be flying (brilliantly) and mum would either be in the galley hiding from the passengers, serving passengers, or on the ground with Herc (_Not my boyfriend, Douglas_). And, well… it was silly, but Arthur felt _proud _then. He felt proud that he knew such _brilliant _pilots, Douglas _and _Martin. He was proud that _his mum _owned a plane and a company and was the best mum in The World. He felt proud that they had managed to keep Gerti so long. He was proud that he was part of the best crew ever; including Carl and Dirk and the rest of the ground crew.

It was silly because, well he hadn't done any of that, but he was still proud. He was and maybe that was why, he wondered as he opened his mouth, it was so easy. Sure he was terrified, sure he knew what was going on even though he was stupid (he wasn't _that _stupid), but he'd heard that bravery was doing something even though it scared you. So perhaps he was brave too.

* * *

She should've known. It wasn't like the signs weren't there; a last minute flight, willing to pay double, a round trip with a short stop in Egypt. Never mind that there was nothing to see from the group of five: four men and a woman. She's sure that there was something that would have given it away, if only she had looked. If only she hadn't been so desperate to keep MJN afloat, to prove that not only could she provide for and raise her son without a rich husband to make up any lack of money, but that she could _run _a business, be in charge. She was not weak, and Caroline had been desperate to prove it. But, MJN was quickly losing money, and then there was this job, and now here they were. Her son and her pilots with guns pressed against their heads.

Martin and Douglas had complained when she told them about this job, of course. They always did. And she had done what _she _always had: not listened. If only she had continued to not listen when Arthur had said that Mr. Joe must have a son because his friend in the airport had just given him a toy gun and look, see, telly does teach people things because he learned that from the telly, it's called subtraction. And really, it had taken her a few minutes to realize that he was talking about deduction. But she shouldn't have listened because now Arthur was in danger and _nothing _was as important as Arthur.

She really, really should have known better.

* * *

It was luck in the end. The arranged flight had fallen through last minute; busted for ferrying drugs. The entire operation was about to go bust when Marianne found MJN Air, a tiny airline with only one jet. While the airline's website was not at all encouraging, (there were airplanes dancing around the border for goodness' sake) the picture displayed proudly was. A small crew on a nobody airline would hardly raise as much suspicion as a major airline would if things went wrong.

At the airfield, the plane was a dingy thing, not an inspiring sight to say the least and the pilots were less than assuring. At least the captain was. No, not the one that _looked _like a caption, the one that looked like a mix between a baby deer and a red faced clown that _was _the captain. The manager and CEO was instantly recognizable as the woman on the phone who had refused to fly them anywhere on such short notice with her pilots so close to being out of hours, only to snatch at it when an offer doubled the normal price was offered. She was evident in the commanding set of the shoulders and the state of the airfield.

Yes, this woman had the look of desperation. Desperate people were good.

Then there was the steward, the man with a round face, rounder eyes, and the exuberance and mental capacity of a smart seven year old (that would have been generous except no seven year old would be able to understand, let alone compose the convoluted sentences that fell from the man's mouth.)

Luck had been with them in getting out of the country, in finding MJN and in blessing them with either a desperate and subpar crew. So, when they arrived in Egypt without a hitch, there was no reason to suspect that something could go wrong. But, despite (or maybe because of) their good luck so far, things went very wrong very quickly.

* * *

He could have fixed it. He knew he could have- that's what he did. Whenever MJN was in trouble, he was able to fix it always, without fail. And guns held against each of their heads, both figuratively as well as literally, certainly qualified as 'trouble.' His brain moved a mile a minute, analyzing, looking for loopholes in the situation, trying desperately to find a way to worm their way out of this disaster. Then the words that had burned and had coiled despair tight around his mind.

"You really shouldn't have gotten curious and kept your nose clean. And I'm sorry to say it will be impossible for you to return to your little home in Fitton. However, I feel that we can be generous. One way or another you _will _die, but I suppose we can let you die on your own terms. You will choose who will die first. If you don't, Marianne will choose for you."

One glance at the woman in question's cold, calculating smirk and her hard eyes and Douglas had known that there wouldn't _be _a happy ending if he didn't work fast. It was in those seconds, those precious few seconds that held the difference between life and death that Douglas thought he should volunteer. It naturally would fall to him to do so. But he was hit with the absolute desire to not. He didn't _want _to. He didn't want to leave his daughter. She was still growing, there was still so much to learn from her, he didn't want to _leave_ her.

It was in these seconds that Douglas made his greatest mistake. It took no longer than for Douglas to pause in his trick-up-his-sleeve planning, his single moment of hesitation.

From the mouth of the last person he expected came the words,

"It'll be me…"

If only he hadn't hesitated. He could have fixed it, he knew he could've.

* * *

Arthur knew what everyone thought about him (he wasn't deaf- although it would be brilliant to learn sign language. Then he could talk to anybody.) and he was under no illusions that these people thought any different. So he wasn't very afraid that they would pay much attention to him and he let his mind wander. It wasn't very comfortable standing still like they had asked, actually he wasn't used to it at all and couldn't help but fidget uncomfortably. In response the gun was pressed more tightly against his back and Arthur stilled. He knew how serious this was, but he held no doubt that they would be able to get out of this.

It was much like St. Petersburg, really. The imminent end of MJN, the absolute despair, and just like then, Arthur had no doubt in their eventual success and safety. Douglas would get them out like he always did. MJN was too brilliant to lose. Out of all the brilliant things in the world (and there were _a lot_) MJN was the biggest and best one. It always made him happy, well except for the times when passengers were especially horrible, or mum was in an especially bad mood. But those times don't count.

Arthur looked over at his mum. She was standing tall, glaring at the man who was giving orders. She obviously wasn't very happy. Martin was also standing tall, but he looked more stiff and frustrated than angry like mum to Arthur. There was a bruise blooming on his face from when he had tried to tell them that he was _the Captain _and that they couldn't do this. The passengers hadn't liked that very much. Arthur couldn't see Douglas, but he was sure that the older man was about to get them out.

"…You will choose who will die first. If you don't, Marianne will choose for you." What?

There was silence. Never before had Arthur heard a silence so loud, and that was saying something because all silences seemed loud to him. And now, when the silence was screaming in his ears and filling him up until he was almost overflowing, Arthur spoke.

"It'll be me, I suppose." All eyes turned to him.

The thing about Arthur is that his brain never holds still. It's always moving and looking and finding things that match. Like Douglas and bears or tossing apples and warm baths. Sometimes, Arthur's brain moves so fast that it thinks things even before Arthur's realized he's thought them. This is what Arthur supposed must have happened. Because now that the words are out it makes perfect sense.

"What are you talking about, you idiotic-"

It makes perfect sense.

"Arthur, I don't know if you realize, but-"

It makes perfect sense.

"No, Arthur, you don't- it really should be the-"

It makes perfect sense.

It made just as much sense as yellow car or Martin being Skip. And isn't it funny how when people are yelling at you all at the same, your name is the _only _thing that makes sense? 'Cause that's what's happening right now. Mum and Skip and Douglas are all yelling at him, and he could probably guess what they're saying, but all he can hear is his name, '_AthurArthurArthur._'

"Shut up!" Sharp, cruel, harsh. All at once, Arthur can remember exactly what he's just done and fear, sharp, cruel, harsh, fills him.

Things quiet down until only one last murmur from his mum is heard. "Arthur…"

'Are you sure?' And there goes his brain connecting things again. 'Arthur-Are you sure? Arthur-Are you sure?' See they sound a lot alike, don't they?

"You?" The woman, Marianne from seat 3B spoke, sounding meanly-surprised. "You? And what do you think you can do? What makes you think you should be shot first? Trying to spare yourself the sight, are you?"

Arthur blinked in surprise and felt a bit sick at the thought. That wasn't it at _all._

"No…It's just…" Arthur tried to put it into words, precisely what he thought, _why, _"Just… MJN's brilliant, you know? Skip knows everything about everything there is to know about flying and Douglas, he can do _anything_, plus, he's been married three times and has a daughter. How brilliant is that!? And Skip, he's _going_ to get married. To a _princess. _He doesn't think so, but I can tell. Mum… well she's mum." There was a 'hmph' from where his mum was and Arthur thought he better clarify. "I mean, she left dad… which was… really, really…more that brilliant actually. And she got Gerti and hired Douglas and Martin The last guy wasn't nice at all… and well, you are all _really _brilliant. So, I guess it's because I'm the least brilliant, and I don't want it to be any of you." And Arthur didn't realize that he had begun to address his friends, but he knew with an absolute and solid certainty that everything he had said was the truth. (Even the part about Martin marrying Theresa.) "It just makes sense." Because it did.

* * *

He would have done _anything _to stop it, because as Arthur spoke, Martin was filled with a terrible understanding. The reasoning and explanation that Arthur was giving sound dreadfully familiar. They were the same thoughts that crossed his mind all the time. It wasn't that he harbored thoughts of unworthiness or self-hatred, and he was sure that Arthur didn't as well. The steward was much too happy-go-lucky for that. Of course, appearances weren't always a perfect blue-print for how the brain works, but Martin felt confident that this was the case for Arthur. At least, he thought it was…

But even if it wasn't, what Arthur seemed to be describing was more of an acknowledgement of everything the world around you has succeeded in and being starkly aware of your own faults. It was an acceptance of lack, not a hatred of it. Anyways, it still stood that Arthur thought he had less of a reason to live than _him. _Arthur, the one who wore a sunbeam smile without fail and who always managed to look on the bright side of things, people or events regardless, felt that he was less brilliant than him? He who only knew 'everything about everything there is to know about flying' because that was the only way he had a possibility of passing. And he was only a captain, a _pilot_, because he was desperate and willing to work for free. He was barely skating by as it was. The idea that Arthur thought he was less brilliant was inconceivable to him. At the very least, it was his duty as the captain to keep his crew safe.

But how? He wasn't Douglas. He couldn't just pull a solution out of his hat (no matter how ridiculous Carolyn and Douglas thought it was). But he had to do something, Arthur didn't deserve this.

He watched as Arthur was pulled roughly forward to stand before them in a grotesque parody of a magician's act, and hoped against hope that it wasn't the gun that had moved to rest against Arthur's head that would make him disappear.

Martin's heart continued pounding in an insatiable rush as if it would burst out of his chest and bring all the answers with it and he was trying to think. Something, something, anything.

He would've done _anything _to stop it.

* * *

To be honest, Milo quite enjoyed flying with MJN Air. True, the whole thing looked like it was about to fall right out of the sky at any moment and it was true that the Carolyn Knapp-Shappey lady had the look of someone who would love nothing more than to hit Gerant over the head with his carry-on (something Milo would pay good money to see, if only he wasn't sure she would be dead shortly after). The thing that had really made the flight worthwhile was the steward. Milo could tell that the boy got of Gerant's and Marianne's nerves, but Milo found him to be a pleasure. It wasn't only the fact that he seemed to make a game of stretching sentences as far as they could go, ("Good afternoon, Sirs and Madame. I would like to welcome you this day aboard our plane this day and request that if Sirs and Madame have any requests this day that you will direct them towards me. And if Sirs or Madame have any questions it will be my pleasure to answer them for you this day.") but also that he seemed ineffably cheery.

However, despite the enjoyment Milo got from watching the boy, he didn't hold quite that high of an opinion for him. So, when Gerant demanded that one of the crew offer themselves up as the sacrificial lamb, Arthur Shappey was the last person he expected to step forward. Perhaps the captain who seemed so eager to get himself killed with all his nattering on about how he was the captain and if they left right now, he would 'go easy' on them. Gerant shut him up quick. (Honestly, Milo was quite frustrated with him for ruining all the entertainment.) Or maybe the over-confident older man who looked at least forty would step up. He seemed to be the papa bear of the company. And don't forget the owner who Milo was still waiting on to attack Gerant, especially now, with the glare she was aiming towards him. She was in charge and her son was in danger, she had good reason to step up. But it was none of them. Entirely to his surprise, it was Arthur who stood forward. It was evident that the others had been shocked into silence at the demand, but Milo hadn't expected it to last long. And that is how the boy had gotten them. While they squandered in silence, he must have made up his mind. The outcry that followed was predictable, as was Gerant's harsh demand for silence. But again, Arthur proved himself once again with his speech. It was horribly sentimental, but that didn't stop the fact that it was impressive. Impressive that he had the presence of mind to speak… well, not coherently, but an attempt none-the-less. Impressive that he cared enough to do this in the first place. Impressive that he was able to stand tall, here in his last moments. And he was; tall, looking at the rest of the crew with solemn eyes. Milo paused in his thoughts as something shocked him so thoroughly that he found himself questioning the universe in all its immense expanses. Marianne leaned in close to Arthur's ear and whispered something. Arthur froze for a fraction of a second before he smiled. Not just a sad little smile, but the full out beaming smile that first met Milo when boarding the plane and that he had begun to associate with him. Huh. Impressive indeed.

* * *

Arthur looked out at the others and was hit by the realization that this could very well be the last time he ever saw them. Unless he became an angel. He wondered if that was possible. He hoped so. He really didn't know much about angels but it sounded nice. Maybe a guardian angel, then he could be _really_ brilliant ! His breath caught. Maybe… maybe then he could hang around for a little while longer. Then he could watch mum and Martin and Douglas. He would like to keep them safe after all that they've done to be so brilliant. That's what guardian angels did, isn't it?

He could feel the tell-tale burn in his eyes and it suddenly seemed a lot harder to breathe.

Marianne's hand tightened around his arm and he could feel her nails through his red shirt. More paramount (he learned that word from mum) than the bite of her nails, was the gun now pressed against his head and Arthur wondered if it stayed there long enough, if he would stop feeling it. That would be nice, he didn't much like the feel of the unyielding metal against his skull. From behind him, he could feel the woman holding the gun lean towards him until he could feel her breath on his ear.

"Say goodbye now, before I'm told to blow your brains out."

That wasn't a very nice thing to say _at all. _Why couldn't people just be nice? It wasn't that hard, was it. It wasn't for him. And… and, well, he didn't want to say goodbye. Goodbyes were so final and just… depressing. No. Goodbye meant The End and MJN was never going to end and even if owning an ice cream van would be brilliant, this right here was even better. It should be like yellow car. You never stop playing yellow car. No matter how bad things are, you could _always_ play yellow car. MJN couldn't end, it just couldn't and well, things were pretty bad right now. Maybe Arthur doing this would give Douglas more time, so then MJN wouldn't have to end. No, Arthur felt a grin grow, he wouldn't say goodbye.

"Yellow car."

* * *

**AN: I feel as if I should make everyone aware, this is the end. I don't know how I want to finish it, so until I do, this is it. You are welcome to follow the story if you're are interested. I simply don't want you waiting on the edge of your seats for the next part when I am also waiting. So, if you have any ideas, share them, and thank you. I would also like to thank you so very much for reading. Have a wonderful week!**


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